


One Day

by hpotps



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky gratuitously fucking shit up, M/M, Pining, Skinny Dipping, Slow Burn, bucky gratuitously fixing all the things he fucked up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 02:23:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4859486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpotps/pseuds/hpotps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off the British movie, One Day. </p><p>Here's the thing about being in the closet: Sometimes, when you're raised in a certain way, you're so far in you don't realise it's a closet you're in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SansPellegrino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SansPellegrino/gifts), [Leavingfreedomandchoice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leavingfreedomandchoice/gifts).



> Steve comes to the realisation that they identify as Stephanie throughout this story. This growth is something the reader is going to be there for. It is not an established plot point. 
> 
> If you have any questions, or are reading this story to understand yourself or the transgender community better, do not hesitate to talk to me; I will help as best I can. 
> 
> My tumblr is: turningstevie.tumblr.com

Steve Rogers did it all: he swam, he ran, and on the rare occasion, he biked. Well, today was no stranger than the rest save for that tiny little detail that he’d ended his swim with a bike ride home.

That was on June 14, 2006.

And if you’ll indulge me, I’d like to take you on the journey of how exactly Mr. Steven Grant Rogers ended up on his bike, pedalling home- but for that, I’ll need to take you back to the 14 of June, 1988.

~

It was graduation day at St. Andrea's University.

Steve walked into the courtyard alongside his friend Annie Withers, who was with her boyfriend Jim Moran, who was with his best friend Bucky Barnes. Hardly ten seconds into their conversation and into the courtyard, Annie and Jim were at it again; they tangled themselves into each others arms and left him standing there feeling terribly awkward before he decided to speak. “Annie!” He called. “C’mon let’s go home!”

Oh but it was useless; Annie was Jim’s south pole, but that’s a great ironic stretch as Jim’s head was hardly anywhere north. Oh well, if the shoe fits.

Bucky was calling to Jim, attempting to do the foil of Steve and dethrong them himself. He hardly had much success. The other man eventually stepped back a pace or two, conceding and allowing his dog of a friend his go at the bone he’d caught himself this time. It was then he took notice of the skinny, blond boy standing next to him. His beer-addled mind thought it was a great idea to strike up conversation with the rather pretty fellow. Well, he wasn’t wrong.

“You know,” He began, casual grace rolling off his body in waves. “We’ve never actually met.”

“Actually we have.” Steve responded, crushing his feelings with a tsunami of regret. “Several times.” He shot out, hoping the bite worked.

“Have we?” Bucky responded, all but entirely unfazed by the boy’s intended malice.

The list began, “You sat next to me in art class, called me ‘Sugar’ the whole year, and ruined three of my canvases.” _And that was just one time_ , he wanted to add, but bit his tongue.

“Oh,” Bucky said, something in his mind pointing vaguely in the direction of hurt, or, perhaps, guilt. “Well, I am sorry about al-” He didn’t get to finish his sentence as Steve cut in over him.

“No, don’t be! You were delightful.” Steve smiled sincerely, and Bucky damn well believed him.

“Really?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“No. You were dreadful.”

“Right.”

Steve continued staring helplessly at his friend Annie, Bucky watching him with hesitation. However, the alcohol in his veins was enough to make him do something stupid- such as, continue the conversation.

“So if it’s not ‘Sugar’...” Bucky trailed off. _Smooth_ , his mind supplied.

“Steve. Steve Rogers, actually.” He said. Despite his hard words and tough heart he was all but damned if handsome, charming Bucky Barnes didn’t get him going.

“Steve Rogers.” Bucky repeated lightly, knowing it felt right saying that name, but not knowing why. “Can’t say I didn’t like Sugar better but if it’s how you’ll hear me, then, how ‘bout it, Steve? Let me walk you home.” Bucky said, charm falling into place as easily as stars were in the night.

Shit, Steve was really screwed. _No_ , he thought. “Sure,” he said.

So, drunk and out of it, Steve fell into his apartment with Bucky at his tail, “And then I was going to open an art gallery maybe even- hmph!” Steve had just placed his keys on the table and turned around, finishing his story, when he felt Bucky kissing him. It was intoxicating to say the least, and as Steve shut down, his whole body screamed _finally._

When Bucky pulled away, words came with him, filling the gap between them, “Because really it’s only art that’s needed-”

This time Bucky cut him off with words instead of lips, “To change the world!” Bucky ended the sentence with a kiss, pulling away again all too soon, “I completely agree.” Steve’s head was spinning as Bucky locked lips with him again and again, some pecks, and some heavier, but all extremely overwhelming and simultaneously not enough.

They were in the bedroom, now, undressing as they fired questions back and forth, scrounging what little information they could get from one another to perhaps give the night a tad more meaning. “So what are you trying to be in life, Bucky?” Steve asked, going for casual while completely out of breath.

“In life?” Bucky asked, attempting to grapple with clarity through the smog in his head that was only slightly diminishing. Further still, it was only to be replaced with the drunken stupor of sex. Steve gave him a hum of approval, not looking as he pulled his pants down, instead, focusing his gaze on Bucky himself. “Famous?” Bucky asked, Steve rolled his eyes but a smile tugged at his lips- all too familiar with dreams and ambitions. “Filthy rich?” _There it is_. Steve thought to himself in response to Bucky’s passion for money.

“You’re such a jerk.” Steve said, the lame remark coming out despite Steve’s intentions to chastise him. But he was smiling anyway, as Bucky laid on his bed. Steve turned and walked through the room, away from the bed, panic spiking in his chest after he laid eyes on Bucky’s gorgeous body.

“Where are you going, punk?” Bucky asked, putting his right arm behind his head as he watched Steve recede from the bed.

“Brush my teeth.” Steve lied. He really was terrible at it. “Contrary to, among your plethora of partners, what is popular belief, beer mouth is terrible.” Steve said, moving to put music on, before turning to go to the bathroom.

“I don’t mind!” Bucky said, laughing lightly.

“I do.” Steve shot back, “I’ll be gone for just a second.” He was at the door, opening it and stepping through as he called back, “No playing with yourself while I’m gone!” That seemed to get a chuckle out of Bucky, but Steve was already gone to hardly notice.

As soon as the door swung closed, his mind began racing. He wanted this, but look at him! Standing in a tshirt that swung midthigh, knobbly knees, spindly legs, veins showing in his absurdly pale skin. Steve knew he couldn’t do this. But he wanted to. And if tonight was going to be his only chance, he was going to take it even if it killed him. Or gave him an asthma attack. Not necessarily in that order. Steeling himself, Steve brushed his teeth and doted on a clever idea his mind supplied for him.

Circling through the second bathroom door, across the kitchen to the living room, and back into the bedroom, Steve had enough time to rid the shirt and slipped on his cap and gown in only his underwear. He stepped through the door, giving everything he had to attempt at sex appeal.

All of it popped like a balloon and faded as Steve saw that Bucky was standing with his pants done halfway up, the other boy in the midst of fixing it when Steve had evidently returned.

“Oh, you’re leaving.” Steve said. Oh but of course he was, Steve couldn’t really find reason to have him stay when all he could offer was countable ribs and ice cold feet. Bucky winced audibly, “Yeah,” He began. “It’s just this big day tomorrow with my parents and-” But Steve was already dismissing him.

“No, it’s fine, go! Take the window for all I care.” Steve said as Bucky tried and failed to make the hurt less painful. He was already removing the cap and gown, thinking to himself, _stupid idea_. That was when he heard him, “I’ll stay.” Bucky said.

Steve almost couldn’t breathe, but that’s not saying much given his list of ailments. “No, you won’t. Not if you don’t want to.” Steve heard himself say, thoroughly disagreeing with the words as all he wanted was for Bucky to stay, but he was right. If Bucky didn’t want to stick around, Steve wasn’t going to make him. That wasn’t right or fair in the slightest.

“I do want to.” Bucky said, making eye contact for the first time since Steve had walked through the door. “I do, look,” Bucky proved his point as he got into Steve’s tiny twin bed, hardly enough to hold the two of them, much less have sex on, now that Steve properly thought about it.

“Right, okay.” Steve said, grabbing the nearest shirt and throwing it over his head. It wasn’t until the shirt brushed much lower than normal that Steve realised it was Bucky’s shirt he was wearing. He almost hastened to take it off but instead opted to sit on the bed and take the victory. “It’s just.” Steve began and quickly trailed off as he realised he didn’t know what to say, “I’m not very good at this.” He surmised and settled. “Virginity doesn’t exactly make things _easy_ in the bedroom.” He half joked.

He could feel Bucky tense in the minute space that did exist between them. Steve looked away from his hands in his lap to see what had bothered Bucky. “What?” He prompted.

“You’re a virgin?” Bucky asked, discomfort in his features.

 _Oh, shit,_ Steve thought to himself, scrambling to recover, but his cover was blown, how could he have been so _careless_? “Um,” he said eloquently, “yeah.”

“Oh.” Was all Bucky had to say to that, and it was all he did.

“When I picture going to bed with someone I end up laughing or weeping, so I figured shooting between the two was the best target.” He joked, and, luckily, Bucky laughed. Smiling slightly to himself, Steve continued, “It’s not so important as all the get up.” He half lied; his virginity was definitely important to him. That’s why he kept it so long, he wanted to lose it to the right person. And here the right person was, sitting mere inches from him, and didn’t want it.

“That works for me.” Bucky said smoothly, reaching out to touch Steve’s arm. “Maybe we could just be friends.” He finished, corners of his mouth turned up to seem more friendly, Steve was sure. But the bite stung. All hope inside him for them had died.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, but they were empty words. He really could live if Bucky decided to take the window now. It’s only five floors up. “Friends.”

Bucky’s arm was open, so Steve laid down and turned into him, Bucky’s arm curling around his back and Steve’s head resting on Bucky’s chest.

“It’s Flag Day.” Bucky said, non-sequitur. “Is it?” Steve asked, genuinely interested in why Bucky was remembering the exact date of Flag Day at two in the morning. “How do you know that?”

“I went to this really nice university, St. Andreas, you’ve probably never heard of it, very rich.” Bucky quipped, Steve faking hurt as he slapped the older boy lightly. “Yeah, there’s a poem about it and everything.” He continued, speaking into Steve’s hair as the boy drew absent designs onto his chest. “If on Flag Day it doth rain; something, something, something…” He trailed off absently for a brief moment, breathing in before finishing, “remain.”

“That’s beautiful, Bucky, really.” Steve teased, hating that the ignorant charm made butterflies go off in his stomach and chest. “You should do this professionally. ‘Bucky Barnes poetry.’” Steve said, miming a headline with his hands, laughing with Bucky at the end of it.

“No, I’d much rather be a dancer.” Bucky said lightly, clearly dreaming about it, even as he spoke to Steve. “It’s a much better outlet.”

“Oh, well, that’s a crying shame then. That coulda been your fame and money right there!” Steve laughed. He looked up then and met Bucky’s eyes, surprised to see that the older boy had already been looking his way.

“Yes, I’m sure it is.” Bucky said, holding Steve’s gaze. Steve’s breath stilled as he looked on, not knowing quite why Bucky Barnes, of all people, could have such a hold over him. Before tonight he’d always been kind of a dick. But Bucky kissed his forehead then, and that was when Steve knew. He was in love with a man that hadn’t the heart to love him back. Not yet at least, maybe not ever. But in the four years of college, Steve had got to see Bucky. The other man had blown his way through many a man and woman but never kept one more than a month, two at the longest. The older boy was a player, true and simple, but that didn’t stop his heart from skipping almost entirely out of his chest as Bucky’s chapped lips brushed his forehead.

“Let’s get some sleep, jerk.” Steve said, voice betraying his array of emotions. He turned over in Bucky’s arms so that his back could press to Bucky’s chest, effectively spooning. Steve lay rather comfortably as his mind raced.

“Okay, punk.” Bucky agreed, throwing his left arm over Steve, pulling himself closer to the smaller boy.

“Buck?” Steve asked after only a moment or two of quiet had passed over them.

“Mmhm?” Bucky hummed in response.

“If it doesn’t rain tomorrow- or today.” Steve closed his eyes, forging ahead before he allowed himself to give out, “Would you want to do something? Just you and me.” Steve suggested, tone hinting nonchalance while his body screamed of nerves.

“Sure, punk.” Bucky agreed. Steve was asleep in moments after Bucky’s agreement flushed the nerved from his system and Steve was finally able to truly relax into the older boy’s arms.

The boys both slept well that night, and many night since, but this is all in their tale for today, come come, there’s much more to see, but not until next year.

~

Bucky truly could not tell you why he was stepping out of a U-Haul, lifting a very bulky, very heavy drawing table on June 14 1989. It was high quality, that much he could tell, but every element of notoriety that came with it, the table seemed to gain a pound. Well, in actuality, it was the least he could do to help Stevie move into his new apartment in New York, New York.

“Are you alright?” Bucky blustered as he stepped out of the truck and onto the pavement, the weight of the table mostly lying on him.

“Really? Am I alright?” Steve started, cheeks flushed, asthma attack roughly forty seven seconds away, and his knees shaking. “Of course I am, what about you? You look like you’ve never done a day’s work in your life.”

“Well, it’s hard to find that when you can always hire someone to move this stuff.” Bucky said, not for the first time, and most certainly not the last. “Seriously, kid. I could have had all this done and made lemonade that you’d be sipping right about now, but _no. Somebody_ wouldn’t let me _help_ them.” The older boy whined.

“It’s not help if it’s not needed, Bucky,” Steve said. They’d set the table down to catch a breath and Steve was standing tall, much as he could with his height, and when Bucky finally met his eyes he was nearly startled to see just how much power there was in there. Steve could change the world one glance at a time if the fancy suit him. “That’s pity.”

It took Bucky a moment to register his words, and he was hurt. He didn’t _pity_ Steve. He was proud of him! And just because Bucky _hadn’t_ done a day’s work in his life, and just because he didn’t want to start now, doesn’t make him _pity_ the other boy. It makes him lazy! No, no. Rich. It makes him rich. Before he knew what he was going to say Bucky was talking, “C’mon kid, seriously, my plane leaves in four hours.”

“All the more reason to lift, if we, and by we I mean you, pick up the pace, we should be done in about six.” Steve said.

“Six?” Bucky asked incredulously, “I just said I’ve only got four!”

“Oh you fly Delta, now come on.” Steve spat. He really was irritated, but when he saw the look on Bucky’s face, like he’d just eaten a lemon, he couldn’t help the smile that crept up. He was chuckling then, and soon, without question, Bucky joined along. The two stood there laughing like loons in the middle of the alley way until a car rolled up and blew their horn at them. With sense and coordination, the two lifted the drawing table and went back to it. They moved through the doorway to the apartment complex, went up the stairs, round the corner, up the stairs, round the corner, up the stairs, round the corner, up the stairs, and were climbing to the fourth floor before Bucky started talking again.

“I mean really, did you have to pick the fourth floor?” Bucky asked.

“Yes. It was worth the climb to get to see you moan and groan the entire time.” Steve smiled tightly, his foot connecting with the fourth landing and he sent a quick thanks to the God that prevented him from having an asthma-induced heart attack, because holy _shit_ was the table heavy.

They made their way inside and set the table down onto the floor, to the right of the bed, it making perfect height underneath the window. Steve then set down onto the bed, flopping back, and letting out a contented sigh. Bucky got up and went to what he assumed was the ac unit. He slapped it a few times and backed away when the machine sputtered to life. Behind him, he heard, “I’m going to be very happy here.”

Bucky smiled softly at that, and turned around, “Happy or not, what’s that smell?” Bucky asked. “Old renters used to smoke.” Steve explained.

“Really? Are you going to be okay?” Bucky asked, and the look on Steve’s face had him shut up rather quickly. “Right.” He said.

“No, it’s not that bad. I’m thinking some paint, a nuclear warhead, baddabing badaboom.” Steve said, standing again, resituating some boxes to make more navigable floor space. “I’ve got my drawing table, I’ve got my pencils, I’m in New York, I think I’m gonna be alright.” Steve said, a smile touching his lips, sincere this time. “I might actually get something done too!” He said, laughing lightly.

“Who knows? You might find a nice dame to take out to dinner.” Bucky said, teasing lightly.

“Bucky, please. No one says dame anymore, they’re ladies. And I told you I’m not interested in all that anyway.” Steve shot back, fighting off a smile.

“Oh come on! Matching tattoos, matching opinions!” Bucky said, laughing as Steve threw a pillow at him.

“You know, I’m actually glad you’re going to France.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m leaving. I’ve got to catch my flight.” Bucky said, very quickly making his way to the door.

“Already?” Steve called. “Yeah. I’m real sorry, Stevie.” Bucky apologised, and it look like he really meant it this time.

There was a few beats of silence between them, Steve trying not to feel, and Bucky trying not to say fuck it and stay. This was what he needed. He was invited to teach a dance school in Champagne, France! It wasn’t the direction he anticipated, but as they say, ‘Those who can, do. And those who can’t, teach.’

Bucky supposed he was just meant to be a teacher.

His reverie was cut short as Steve spoke again, “Well?” He asked. “Go on then, find yourself.” He resigned.

Bucky smiled at him, slowly moving in closer, watching as the blush crept up Steve’s cheeks. He held his arms open, wanting to give a proper goodbye. Steve rolled his eyes and stepped in close. Bucky threw his arms around the smaller boy and held on tight. “Keep sending me letters, with your art work too, you know how I love your sketches.” He breathed into the smaller boy’s hair.

“I will,” Steve mumbled.

“And have fun, Stevie.” They spaced themselves just a tad as Bucky held his hands on Steve’s shoulders, Steve leaving his hands on Bucky’s hips. “You know, it is allowed.” He said, and then paused. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then, Bucky said, “I get the feeling, this time next year, you’ll have taken New York by storm.”

There was a shocked silence to that, before Bucky pulled Steve in and lightly kissed him. A remarkably still, tender kiss. And Bucky just held him there.

When they broke, Bucky was out the door, down the steps, and crossing the street before Steve recovered. He ran to the doorway, changing his mind, and ran cross the room to the window, throwing it open, and leaning out, “Bye jerk!” He called down to the street below where Bucky was climbing into his car.

The older boy looked back up, smiling and having to close one eye and squint the other against the harsh afternoon light, “See ya later, punk!” He called back. And with that, Bucky left for France.

Yes, yes, I know. It's all very exciting, isn't it? Bucky kissed him, and then promptly left for a country halfway across the world. Well, it's rather emotional, isn't it? But don't fret little one, Steve and Bucky will be back. In exactly one year...

~


End file.
